I Don't Dance
by BeccaBreaksThings
Summary: It's Chris and Jill's wedding day, and together Billy and Rebecca brave the horrors of the dancefloor, bad tailors, and bathroom ballroom. A short little one shot to be part of an upcoming series. BillyxRebecca, ChrisxJill, and implied ClairexLeon


"I told you already, I don't dance," Rebecca grumbled, pursing her lips into an altogether childish pout. She glanced around the room, took in the other couples, their friends, swinging and swaying to the eccentric band's song. While she wished she could ditch and save herself the embarrassment, it was Chris and Jill's wedding day – _that would be plain rude, Becky._

Billy, laughable in a tuxedo just a little too small for his heavy-built frame, flashed her an amused grin and grabbed at her hand. "C'mon, doll face, nobody's looking?"

She sighed, allowing him to tug her to her feet – Rebecca was suddenly glad of her decision to wear flats instead of the painful looking heels both Claire and Ashley sported. Despite herself, she smiled as she was swept into the warmth, comfort, and pure, unadulterated _Billy. _Tracking him down in Mexico had been the best decision she'd ever made.

"If I fall, it'll be on your head," Rebecca warned as the two of them took slow steps towards the dancefloor. Claire shot her a wink and a coy smile before turning back to her exaggerated, _Dirty Dancing-_esque routine with a red-faced Leon. If nothing else, Rebecca was glad she wouldn't be the only one to be embarrassed. _At least Jill looks happy, _she thought, sparing a glance to the elegant bride with eyes for none but her husband.

Billy smirked and ruffled her hair. "Don't worry about it," he said, "I'm an _expert._"

"That only worries me more," Rebecca teased, poking at his chest when he tried to shift her into the kind of high school prom position she'd always hated. "So does this. I feel like I'm sixteen and you're going to have to have me home by ten or face the wrath of my dad."

He cocked a brow in interest, taking slow steps with her to ensure she wouldn't fall. "You did that?"

Rebecca blushed and shook her head. "I was too busy, early graduation and all. Didn't exactly have time for prom committee and pompoms."

"Then allow me to be your dorky prom date," Billy offered, chortling when she scrunched up her nose and stuck out her tongue in distaste. His arm was strong on Rebecca's back, large hand engulfing her much smaller one. "Reassured yet?"

"Almost." Rebecca bit her lip and looked from side to side to see how everyone else was doing. Just as she was about to concede that, yes, maybe she was having a good time, Billy surprised her with an elaborate dip back until her hair – recently grown out – brushed the floor.

"Billy!" she shrieked, more alarmed than anything. Even with the Raccoon adventure – if you could call it that – Rebecca still wasn't past the little scares. If anything, she was twice as jumpy as she had been before. "Stop it!"

Claire's laughter sounded over a busy instrumental, followed by her teasing, "What's the matter, Becky? It all looks romantic to me."

Billy laughed with her and returned Rebecca to an upright position. She didn't hold out on whacking him with tiny, now expert, fists, and grumbling, "That was _not _funny." Turning to Claire, she added, "That's to both of you."

"Aww, c'mon, Becky," Claire cooed, trying her hardest to hold back laughter. "Loosen up a bit."

"I already said I don't dance," Rebecca replied tersely, clenching her jaw. She knew she was being irrational, but to give in so quickly would only make the teasing worse – such was the problem of her flat share with Claire Redfield. Luckily, Claire and Leon aside, none of the others appeared to have noticed – or if they did they weren't fussed – the scene on the dancefloor.

Billy again laughed, shaking his head until a lock of his slicked hair came loose and he had to brush it back. With the movement came a quick, sharp tearing of fabric and a flow of blood to Billy's cheeks. This time, it was Rebecca who started to laugh.

"You didn't," she said, brows shooting up towards her hairline. Rebecca made a gesture with her finger. "Turn around."

"No can do, doll face," Billy drawled in as casual a manner as he could bring himself to feign. Backing away slowly, careful not to turn away from the snickering girls and Leon, he added a hurried, "I'll be back."

Claire smirked and watched as he hurried away, nudging Rebecca's shoulder. "Go get Arnie."

"Arnie?" Rebecca rolled her eyes and watched the direction Billy had headed off in – to the bathrooms, she guessed, to check the worst of the damage. While she was admittedly curious, a new-found stubbornness had her shaking her head. "I think I'll hang out here a while."

Claire, having none of it, nudged her again. "If you don't go, I'll make you dance with _me_," she warned, shaking her hips to emphasise. "And I'm a lot worse than Billy."

Rebecca opened her mouth to protest, but, knowing just how serious Claire was, promptly shut it and turned away to go and find Billy. Part of her was feeling a little sorry for the man, while another thought he had gotten just what he deserved for scaring her like that – either way, she couldn't deny the feelings. Only Billy was capable of making her react like that.

She stopped just short of the men's room door, wrinkling her nose in anticipation. While Rebecca had seen much worse than a few messed urinals in her time, the prospect of heading inside brought about an incredibly girlish revulsion. Sucking in a sharp breath, she knocked once on the door before pushing her way inside, eyes shut lest anyone be doing their business.

"Billy? You in here?" Rebecca called out, satisfied that – by the lack of outburst – nobody was using the facilities. She cracked open an eye and noted that one of the stall doors was half closed, a familiarly large figure behind it.

Billy didn't say a word, just stepped out with the sorriest expression Rebecca might ever have seen on him. Her hand snaked up to her throat on instinct, clasping his dog-tags as a tiny smile spread across her face. "Are we really doing this?" she asked.

"Doing what?"

Rebecca's smile broadened into full-grin territory. "Standing in the men's room at a wedding because I don't dance and you've ripped your jacket."

He couldn't help but snort-laugh at that, turning so that Rebecca could see the worst of the damage. Billy's tailor – if he even had one – would be out of a job if he saw what happened; where sleeve met torso were two large tears, revealing stark white shirt underneath.

"It's a bold fashion statement, I'll give you that," Rebecca said, reaching up to tap him on the shoulder. "You can turn around now, old man, this is weird enough as it is."

When Billy turned back to face her, Rebecca was pleased to see he no longer looked the sorry kindergärtner. In fact, he wore the same half-smile, half-smirk he had when he'd first made her dance. "What's that look for?" Rebecca asked, trying not to smile back. "Should I be worried?"

"Only if you don't trust me, doll," Billy said, slipping an arm around her waist and one hand over hers.

"I trust you," she assured, "but like I said, I don't dance."

Billy dropped a kiss on her forehead, the gesture more tender than any he looked capable of. "Then we can not dance together."

"In the men's room?"

"In the men's room."


End file.
